Wicked Games
by effies-scrapbook
Summary: Oh, what a tangled web we humans weave. — The gritty tale of Team Rocket, as told in the eyes of a man who lost his footing climbing up the ladder and a woman who refused to fall. Contains Rocketshipping, with minor Pokeshipping. Rating subject to change.
1. Chapter 1

**WICKED GAMES**

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**FULL SUMMARY**: As they climb their way up the Team Rocket ladder, Jessie and James throw themselves in a seemingly fabulous lifestyle of a higher-ranked agent. Lost in a life of crime, they begin to change into people they said they'll never become. Years later, the two are no longer a duo, and in a story within a story, we uncover the truth, the lies, the secrets, and the scandals. _This_ is the gritty tale of Team Rocket, as told in the eyes of a man who lost his footing climbing up the ladder and a woman who refused to fall. This is what _really_ goes on behind closed doors.

**CONTENT MATERIAL:** This story takes a more serious look on Team Rocket and exposes the inner workings of the mafia as controlled by Giovanni and, more or less, by Madam Boss. Because of this, I will stay true to the sexual and gory violence that persists in the life of crime, as well as consented sexuality, excessive alcohol and drug abuse, and the strong language that comes with the package. **Please take caution with this story. Characters _will _die._ Anyone is fair game._**

**TAKES PLACE:** Post-_Master Quest_ – cannon complaint. I take liberties with the universe after this season, so yeah, it's AU.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything except the story itself. All recognizable locations, characters, etc. belong to Nintendo and Game Freak.

I will provide a more thorough explanation of this story at the end of the prologue. In the meantime, please enjoy.

* * *

**prologue ::** _a tangled web_

* * *

_Now_

In Viridian, it is cold. Two women huddled in front of a worse-for-wear motel whisper things quickly, with or without care of anyone who passes by. Their scarves are drawn tightly around their faces, as if to conceal their identities from ears and eyes around the city, but regardless their teeth still chatter and their skin still tighten in gooseflesh.

The red-headed woman, Jessie, hates the cold and the dark, and combined in the Viridian night, she's miserable and would rather be dead. Then again, in most cases she favors death over anything, but like hell she'd tell that to her company.

Truth be told, she is unsure why the older woman is even in Viridian - last she heard, her son was on his way back to Pallet, so it would make sense for the mother to be preparing for his long overdue visit. But no. Delia Ketchum is here, shaking and baring the dead of winter for no known reason, other than perhaps making light conversation with Jessie. Which, while idiotic and stupidly sentimental, is just what Delia would do. In any case, the Rocket is busy with something, but the older woman insists on talking.

"I'm sure he misses you, just as I'm sure you miss him," the older woman says, her eyes fixed on Jessie's, as if to convince her.

"Delia - " Jessie hisses. She resents the way she talks of him, like he's dying to see her, when all involved know that is not the case. "- I'm not coming back to Pallet with you. Final answer. I have a job, in case you've forgotten."

"I'm not asking you to come home with me. I'm asking you to just reach out to him. It's been a year - " Delia tries once more, almost pleadingly.

"And it's been a year well spent. We work better alone. That's just how we are, and there's no shame in that. Now _please_ go back to the gym. Giovanni will have my head if he knows I'm the one keeping you," the Rocket says, pushing Delia into the direction of the Viridian City Gym.

The woman stands her ground, shrugging off Jessie's hands. "I'm not going to watch you wither away to nothing."

"Then leave. You owe me nothing now. You're wasting your time trying to argue with me."

"I'm not arguing, I -"

At this point, Jessie's had enough.

"Delia, I honestly don't even know how you tracked me down at this hour, but there's a reason why I'm here," she says, her tone even yet brisk. "I have to deliver some stuff to a client. Look - if you want to talk, I'll hear you out, but I'm doing business right now."

"I know."

_What?_ "Then why are you here?"

"Because I'm the one who you're delivering to," Delia says with a small smile. "No worries, I don't want your drugs, I just want a talk. Besides, I think you need a break from delivering."

The Rocket's jaw tightens. She does need a break, but...

"I told Giovanni I was heading to Pewter to visit some family. He has no clue I'm still in Viridian," she continues. "So we're safe for tonight."

"You can't have possibly wanted to talk about James for a whole night - " Jessie says, an eyebrow raised at the notion.

"Oh, Heavens no! Women can only talk about men for so long. No, I came to talk to you about something more important."

Jessie crosses her arms. "What might that be?"

"Oh, well, soldiers like us need a break to share war stories. Jessica, I need to confirmed of something..." she starts out, trailing off as her eyes fall onto the moth-eaten motel before them. "I have my fair share, but I need to ask you something. I - I have had my reservations on you and James and Meowth since you three had nearly killed my son the first time you met him, but now... now I know you're good people at heart."

"Good people don't kill other people," Jessie reminds her. She leads them into their room that she rented out for her and - who she thought was - her client.

Delia sits on the edge of the bed and collects her thoughts. Then, she whispers, "What you've done and are doing is bad, yes. But look at me, trying to tame the heart of a lion. I have been for the past thirty years, Jessie. I've done my fair share of bad things, too."

"I doubt you've killed a man in cold blood," the Rocket points out, sitting on the recliner across the bed.

"No, but... I might as well have. My point is to you is that you've just been caught up with a bad crowd. You can't escape, I admit that, because neither can I. But don't for one second think you're not a good person, because damn it," the older woman says, raising her voice as she slams her fist onto her open hand, "I believe you are."

"You're hardly a good judge of character, Delia, but I appreciate the sentiment," Jessie says softly. "What did you want to talk to me about again?"

Delia purses her lips and shifts in her seat. "I knew your mother, Jessie," she says gently. "Very well, too. She had named me your guardian but - well, I lost you too soon before I could fight for you. As for Giovanni getting you back - well, he wanted nothing to do with you at first. As much of a bad person he can be, even he knew that raising a child within the mafia was poisoning. Of course now he wouldn't have cared, and probably would revel in taking you in as an heiress. But before..." Delia shakes her head at that. No use treading in the past, after all.

"I know that means absolutely nothing now. You're twenty-three already, you're already an adult. But I owe it to her to protect you, still, when you need protecting."

"You've never told me this," Jessie says accusingly. "Why now?"

"Because I'm afraid you're going to get yourself hurt. You're letting your fear of rejection take control of you - I can't let that happen. And it's not only James, it's just everything you're doing is so self-destructive. When's the last time you've done actual field work? I don't even think you care that your life is being taken over by drugs and sex with _strangers_ - you claim it's in the name of Team Rocket, but that's dogsbody work. Giovanni has been telling me that you're practically offering yourself to do these things. You've got the devil himself concerned."

Blankly, Jessie blinks. Everything Delia is saying is true, everything. She knows her life is circling the drain and she knows that she's eventually going to get herself killed but... does she care? Maybe that's the point here, though. Her numbness and her apathy isn't normal. Damned if she do, damned if she don't: c'est la vie, is it not?

"What do you want me to say?" Jessie croaks out, her voice raw and low. "I'm sorry? Is that what you want to hear? Because Delia, I don't know anymore. I don't know what to do anymore."

"Tell me how this all happened with you."

"How is that going to help?" Jessie asks desperately. "It's like..." Jessie motions with her hands, trying to paint a picture what she has in mind for Delia. "It's like I'm trapped in the grave I've dug for myself. It's like I can't get out. No matter how much I try, I manage to fall deeper. I'm a lost cause. I'm going to be buried alive."

The mother stares at Jessie for awhile, then looks down at her hands in her lap. "Well, like I've told Ash when he was young. If you can get yourself in something, then you can get yourself out."

"But I can't," Jessie whispers, her voice raw from emotion. She shakes her head. "It's not that simple."

"I can help you. But first, I think a good story is in order for you. I've always believed the best medicine is a good tale."

Jessie snorts. Drawing her knees to her chest, she says, "What do you want to hear from me?"

"Everything. Everything Ash has failed to tell me. Everything you've never told anyone before. Just... _everything_, really," Delia admits after a while. "Privacy be damned, Jessica."

"There's nothing else to talk about now, I suppose. I take it you know of my beginnings? Just so I don't have to repeat of what you already know."

"Just start whenever you feel comfortable. I'm here to help."

_I don't need help,_ Jessie thinks to herself, half-mad that Delia even offered her listening ears. But then half of her is grateful for having someone there for her -

_Wait, stop that, Jessica._ Damn it, who_ is_ she again? She doesn't need help - Jessica Miyamoto doesn't beg for charity. It's beneath her. It's weak. If there's cracks in her walls, then she'll take care of it herself. If she wants to crumble, then so be it - whose business is it if she wants to die or not? At this point, she doesn't even _care_ what happens to her.

Yet deep down, she knows that despite her wounded pride, she needs this. More than anything.

And for honesty's sake, she's unsure if she should indulge the mother or not. There are things ever Jessie is scared to face again, bits and pieces she's vowed to never uncover. But Delia is looking at her expectantly, like all answers in the world are somehow buried in her life's story. This is the woman that her mother felt comfortable leaving her with. This is a woman that she would've been calling mother for all her life. If there's anyone she can trust - aside from James, but that is a different case - this is her.

Jessie laughs at that. _Oh, what a tangled web we humans weave,_ she thinks as she begins her chronicle with hushed words and half-shaken smiles.

* * *

_Now_

A man with lavender hair tied at the base of his neck stands at the kitchen sink, leaning all his weight on the palms that lay on the counter. A damp towel is slung over his shoulder, a place where before rifles hung and bodies were carried – the man winces at the memory, his grip on the off-white marble counter tightening. No, he shouldn't be thinking of _that_ right now.

Delia had asked him to come to Pallet a week ago, just to keep an eye on the house while she dealt with business in Viridian. He scowls at that – he knows just what kind of business she's up to, and with whom she is dealing with.

He would hate her, truly, if she wasn't so kind at heart. After all, he is not one to bite the hand that feeds him.

_Well…_

The man turns on the faucet and collects the water in his hands. It's colder than winter, but splashes it on his face anyway; he needs a wake-up call, big time. The last few months have been a surreal dream, and it takes all of him to convince himself that this is not a bad trip on acid, but a cold-hearted reality. Yes, there are always consequences for his actions, but never has retribution has been so _painful_.

He didn't think he'd lose so much so quickly.

Perhaps that is the great resolution to all their stories. Perhaps that's the only ending for people like him, like them.

He turns on the faucet again, but he's not too sure why.

The man then snaps his hand over his shoulder, grabbing something that had been lingering behind him for the last few minutes. A scream erupts from the other's mouth; the man turns on his heels and whacks the gun out of the intruder's hands, not even bothering to watch the pistol fall to the linoleum floor as he slams the other to the nearest wall.

It doesn't register in the man's mind the identity of the teenager before him until his Carnivine pins the boy to wall and the gun is now trained on its previous owner.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" the boy manages to scream out, despite the vines that restrain him. "You're not welcome here – I thought I made that clear – "

"Your mother invited me here," the man spits out, lowering the gun to his side. "This isn't your house, you're barely ever here anyway." He glances down at the gun, smirking, "A K100? Someone's been tampering with the laws. How many strings did you have to pull to get this bad boy?"

With a snap of the fingers, Carnivine lets go of the boy and makes its way to his owner. Maintaining loyalty, the Pokemon stands in between his owner and the intruder, standing its ground to say that he will protect his master on all costs.

The man pockets the gun, turning his back to face the window. He returns his Carnivine back to his Pokeball, giving it a soft tap.

"You can talk, James," the boy accuses. "Haven't you spent your entire life as a criminal, or was that just another nasty trip of yours?"

The man, James, flinches at that. How _dare_ he? He turns back to face the boy

"But that's only expected of me, right? A heartless bastard, me. You're the hero, no?" James throws back at the former champion. "What's Ash Ketchum doing with a gun?"

Ash stands his ground and clenches his teeth – James resists a smile at the boy's reaction. The twerp has grown, a lot by James's judgment. He's no more the young, lanky pre-teen with hopes and dreams practically pouring out of every orifice in his body; Ash has filled out, now sporting a lean and muscular look. His black hair has been tamed to a crop, his eyes darker and sturdier, older. The years have treated Ash Ketchum both well and badly, but that is to be expected.

James, too, has experienced rougher waves than before.

"Someone's been tailing me and Dawn – not like you care," Ash says grudgingly. He walks over to the table past the kitchen, taking a seat at the chair farthest from James. Wetting his lips, he continues, "I sent her back on her way to Sinnoh to visit her mother. I told her I'll be back for her in a week or two – didn't mention the shady fellows following us, but, well… it's Dawn, as you know."

James nods curtly. The bluenette, from when he last saw her, was a resourceful, smart girl. It's been over a year since he's seen the two, but if there's anything he's learned, it's that people rarely do change.

"You think someone's out to kill you, then?" the man asks. "No reason for you to be afraid, Ash. You've got an entire mafia behind you."

He cracks a smile and ventures over to the table where Ash sits. The boy stares intently at the wood carvings on the table – dates, names, numbers cracked deeply into the mahogany furnish, mere reminders of the bad times, the good times. James notices this too as he takes a seat right across from the boy, who slowly lifts his eyes to meet the older man's.

"Where did my mom go?" he asks in a low voice, like a child, like the ten-year-old boy James once knew.

There's no use in lying, really.

"Viridian. Asked me to watch the house for her while she's dealing with business. As you know…" James trails off, knowing fully well that Ash knows exactly what she is doing there.

The boy tightens his fists, scrunching up his face in disgust. "I hate him."

"You and me both," James agrees.

"He's your boss," the boy retorts. He laughs bitterly, tearing his eyes from the Rocket. "I hate you, too. I would kill you if it weren't for Jessie."

James shakes his head, chuckling at the notion. "Now _there's_ a name I haven't heard in awhile."

The former champion knits his brows together and lifts his eyes back to him. Confused. he opens his mouth to question him, but quickly shuts it. Instead, he makes a bewildered face, moving his hands as if to prompt James for explanation.

The man laughs humorlessly. "Oh, Ash, so much you have yet to learn," he teases, shaking his head in disbelief. "You really need to get closer to your Father Dearest if you aspire to be Don Ketchum one day."

"Hey," he hisses at James, "I resent that."

He just shakes his head in response. Did he really not know what happened to them? He had thought Delia would have told her son all about the drama that happened in the weeks following the Celadon fiasco. But apparently she didn't. A shame, really – James hates retelling the story.

"You fucked up with her, didn't you?"

That _stings_. It's only partly true but even still, it makes his heart squeeze with his guilt.

"No, I didn't fuck anything up," he lies.

"She wouldn't have left you if you did anything else. Hell – even when you do fuck up, she still stays. Don't say I don't know her because she's been a constant in my life since I was ten. I know you two even though I hate it, hate that I owe so much to you, but that's besides the point." He inhales deeply, then resumes, "Don't lie to me. Is she even alive?"

"Would I be here if she wasn't?" he snaps, his anger bubbling over. "Even better, she's safe, at least the last time I talked with her she was."

"Then I see no reason why she would leave—"

James cuts him off before he can even complete his thought.

"You haven't a clue, then? About anything. About me and Jessie and your father and the whole damn Team Rocket. That's the problem with you heroes – you refuse to believe that your villains are humans, too. You think that evil has no right to tragedy." The Rocket slams his fists on the table, startling Ash and a few roaming Pokemon in the house. He stands suddenly, walking back to the kitchen sink.

"Well let me be the first to tell you, Ash Ketchum. I've been through more shit in the last _year_ than you have your entire _life_. You have no idea what we have been through, what _she_ has been through. You have no fucking idea so don't even _dare_ begin to draw conclusions on shit you don't know."

Ash is frozen silent. James grips the counter and exhales through his mouth, still reeling in the aftermath of his outburst.

"Enlighten me," the teen finally speaks up.

James only laughs. "You make it sound so simple. It's not an easy recollection on my part, in case you have forgotten."

"I can follow you."

He turns to face Ash. Swallowing thickly, he says, "I don't even know where to begin."

"Don't ask me, I don't know shit," the teen says mockingly.

The Rocket glares daggers at the boy, but then softens, remembering that he can be scary when furious and the teen is, after all, just a kid. "I'm sorry," he grumbles after a few seconds of awkward silence.

"You've got nothing to apologize for."

James nods, barely listening to the kid anyway. Should even tell the story to the twerp? Does the pretentious little shit even deserve to know the pain that he – _they_, the _entirety_ of Team Rocket – went through in the past decade? Does he deserve to know of the tears, the laughter, the whole damn shebang? Would he even begin to understand that being a Rocket meant surrendering your life to the organization? Free will – _goodbye!_

But even before he comes up with a decision, his lips start moving and he knows it's too late to backtrack.

And maybe, _just maybe_, this is just what he needs to do.

So he begins.

_"We were promoted the night we robbed Ecruteak National Bank…"_

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Well, here's the start saga that my muse has been bugging me to write since I was fourteen. I've always wondered if Team Rocket was anything like the infamous mafias we all identify with the likes of Al Capone and the rest of the Chicago Outfit. So I guess this little (if you could say little, considering my outline tells me that this story will be at the very least thirty chapters long - something that has me considering breaking it up in parts) story has taken Ford Coppola's The Godfather and molded it into something that could, theoretically, fit into a darker version of the PokeVerse. But I'm not merely making Team Rocket into a syndicate like the Corleones and having Giovanni be directly comparable to Marlo Brando's character - rather, I am inspired by the film and taking very little from it, and instead making the story my own.

If anyone is wondering, influences on this story include _The Great Gatsby_ by F. Scott Fitzgerald, _The Godfather_, the television show _Gossip Girl_, _The_ _Sopranos_, _Mad Men_, and the mini-series _The Kennedys_. Also, the song_ Royals_ by Lorde and and _Run_ by Daughter were major players in pushing this story forward.

And because this is going to be a crime-heavy, gangster movie, this story will be undoubtedly true to the reality of being a part of the mafia. It's going to be explicit. It's going to be a lot to take in. There is no way in hell I'm going to leave out parts that would have most likely happened just because this is a kid's show. So for any of you that can't take a story with little fluff and a lot of angst and violence, please, do not read.

For those of you who will continue on reading (and I sincerely hope you do!), I'll flesh out the plot a bit more.

This is a frame story - a story within a story. This is a chronicle of the Ketchum's (mainly Delia's) past with Team Rocket, Jessie and James's experience as promoted agents within the crime syndicate, the current situation between Jessie and James, as well as the Twerp Trio's relationship with Team Rocket. Did that confuse you? Probably. But, it'll make sense as the story progresses. All chapters will be headed with either Now (denotes the present) or Then (the past). The emphasis will be on J&J's past and their present situation, but there will be deviations, such as odd stories from Delia or Ash's commentary.

Eventually, the past and present will converge, and from there the story will resolve. But don't be too excited - that isn't for a long, long time.

Finally, the setting: The bulk of the story will be in the early season regions - namely, Johto and Kanto. Other regions will be briefly mentioned, but as far as I can tell, we will be in Kanto and Johto for majority of the story. Also, the story's _true_ beginning - where Jessie and James and Meowth are promoted to higher agents, the _Then_ part - is during Master Quest. The _Now_ part of the story takes part somewhere between 5 to 6 years after the fact. Every subsequent season after Master Quest is ignored, as (1) I did not watch many of the episodes and (2) I feel like I'm more comfortable with the original cast. Also, an important thing to take note is this: I've changed the character ages a bit.

Here's a list (for the _Now_):

Ash and Misty - 17

Brock - 21

Jessie - 23

James - 24

Delia - 37

Giovanni - 38

Okay, I think I've covered everything you need to know. But if you have questions, just ask me in your review!

SPEAKING OF WHICH. Don't forget to leave a review - I love hearing your guys's thoughts, criticism, ect. My muse thrives on them, so... :)

Until next time - x Tori.


	2. Chapter 2

**WICKED GAMES**

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Disclaimer: I don't own anything except the story itself. All recognizable locations, characters, etc. belong to Nintendo and Game Freak.

* * *

**chapter one ::** _live fast  
_

* * *

_Then_

James wakes up earlier than usual, as the sky is still dark and the moon is still wavering high above him. He's lost his Poketch over the months here, but he gauges the time to be about four in the morning — an hour shy of when the team usually stirs awake on search for Pikachu and the twerps. When he scans the campground, however, he only see one other teammate snoozing peacefully — Meowth, as per usual, is sprawled across his mat with his legs on the dirt and his arms spread out above him. The cat Pokemon is always the last to wake up, and even then Jessie would have to kick him awake. So it's no surprise that the cat is still asleep, and apparently the only one, too.

But Jessie is nowhere to be seen these early hours, something that should worry him but doesn't. After all, Jessie is the most independent one of the group, and arguably the most independent woman he knows. She'll be fine – she's always fine.

James follows the path worn down by boots and Pokemon tracks that eventually leads to Jessie. She's sitting cross-legged on top of a rock, her eyes focused on the increasingly lightening of the sky, seemingly transfixed by the change of colors. Enraptured by the sunrise, she doesn't seem to notice James leaning against the tree behind her; no, she is rather fixed on the sun bleeding into the sky and the napping Poochyena in her lap, a recent steal off of a Hoenn tourist wandering the streets alone – Jessie, taken by dark-types, has yet to express any intent in sending the pooch pokemon off to the boss.

He marvels at the scene before him - if there's any soft side to Jessie, this is it. This is her most vulnerable, a fraction of who she is, a person hidden away under a hard exterior. James smiles softly — when she's alone, or with her Pokemon, she's a different person altogether. She'd hate to know that he's right behind her.

"I don't like the sunrise in Johto very much," he says suddenly. Jessie jumps, surprised at his company, but sobers when she realizes that it is only James. She maintains her stare and does not bother to look back at him — like any slight interruption would destroy the breaking dawn.

"Why?" she asks quietly. "The sky is the same all round. Just as pretty as it is anywhere else."

He laughs as he makes his way towards the rock. She scoots over to make room, which he gladly accepts. He continues his spiel, his voice lowering with every word, "I prefer the Sinnoh skies. It's better, vibrant. But then again Sinnoh is just better in general, as you know." He whispers this last bit like a secret, just between them.

"Never been," Jessie replies coolly. She shifts in her seat, her hands resting on the Pokemon snoring in her lap. "I'm not like a rich boy like you. The only time I ever travelled was in the name of Team Rocket. Maybe that's the only reason why I stay, hm..."

He looks at her, feigning hurt. "The only reason?"

He is met with a resounding pain centered in his ribs. Jessie had slammed her elbow right in his side, and he has to wonder just how strong that woman is. "Don't get sentimental with me, James. You're not being paid to do that."

"We're hardly being paid at all."

"All the more reason to keep your eye on the prize, James," Jessie bites back. She shifts her eyes around her, then back to the unfolding sky. "That damned Pikachu is going to be the death of us I swear—" She licks her lips, pausing to consider her words. "Why I—_we_ could be commanders right now, James, if only that Pikachu…"

James clicks his tongue in disappointment. He's heard this ramble of hers often, her pained wish to be better than what they are, to make the Boss proud for once. She's always worked upon their failure, always berating them for not snagging the pokemon on time, always blaming him and Meowth and, perhaps most of all, herself. He feels bad for God's sake, because Jessie was born to do this, a crafted criminal if he ever saw one. She's an orphan whose blood courses with violence and corruption. And he? Well he's just a rich boy chasing escapes in a mafia enterprise. Just a rich boy caught up in the wrong crowd.

He nudges Jessie with his elbow. "Hey, chin up. We'll get that Pikachu in no time."

Jessie laughs at that, and he doesn't blame her. The chase for the yellow rat is a chase for a pipedream, really. She knows that better than anyone.

"It's been two years, James and we haven't even gotten _close_," she says bitterly. "I'm surprised the Boss hasn't fired us yet, much less killed us off."

James bristles at the notion. "Don't say that, Jessie. He wouldn't – "

"Oh don't be so _innocent_, James, don't act like he wouldn't go that far. You know he has no limits, how greedy he is." Jessie chides softly, a smile hidden on her lips and a laugh lacing her words. "You remember, don't you? You remember Mason and Charlotte. Screwed up on the Creation Project, embezzled millions from Team Rocket...you remember them, yeah?"

"'Team Rocket's finest fighters,'" James says, echoing the words of Giovanni himself during his and Jessie's first year as grunts. Charlotte – Charlie by everyone in Team Rocket – and Mason were the favored ones, the Boss's most cherished workers. They were the model to be followed, the team that all grunts want to be.

_They are a dream_, Jessie told him once, during one of their breaks in their training days. _That kind of status can't be attained for people like us_.

"They died in an accident four years ago, right? Trekking Mt. Silver, looking for legendary Pokemon. It was an accident, a rock slide," James says after awhile. "You can't possibly be saying –"

"I'm saying it wasn't an accident, that's all. They dirtied their hands and the Boss cleaned them up in the only way he knows how," Jessie snaps. She looks away, then whispers, "I signed witness to the autopsy. I said they were crushed to death – broken bones and crushed lungs. I said it was an accident because the Boss promised me that he was going to put us on another level. Beta Agents, he said, more pay, better missions."

James can't believe her. He had an inkling, the night before Mason's funeral, that Jessie was part of it – the way her body shook, the way she refused to talk about the deceased, her lack of surprise when they received news of their promotion days later. But he never knew for sure, and now here he is, listening to Jessie confirm his suspicions.

"And good you did, Jess, you saved us," James says cautiously. "We would've lost our jobs in the Purge. Our lives too, maybe."

Even James knew that being a grunt meant living on borrowed time. Giovanni has a knack of getting rid of worthless grunts every so often, and if Jessie's desperation during the last weeks of their lower status is any indication, they were at the ends of their ropes before they were promoted.

"I know, that's why I did it," she affirms. "I don't expect you to get anything from this, but I'm just saying. It's a matter of time before we're rid of. We need to get that Pikachu and gain back our favor."

James nods. "And that we will." He's lying, of course. The twerps are no lost tourists, no fools to be tricked; Pikachu will never be attained if they are involved. So he thinks of something better – something they've done once or twice before, but not something encouraged by Team Rocket because it's simply reckless. "In the meantime…"

She looks at him, puzzled. "Meantime?"

"Are you up for robbing a bank tonight?"

Jessie only grins, and for once, James says the right thing.

_**-/-**_

Robbing a bank isn't hard, really. It's stuffing money in bags and hauling ass out of there before the police get there – it isn't an art form or a mind game, it's simplified brutality. The thing that makes it most difficult is when people don't cooperate, which pisses Jessie off and makes James nervous. And when Jessie is pissed off, she gets trigger-happy, which isn't good in any case.

This is one of those times, unfortunately.

James' hands are shaking, and he cannot keep his aim on the secretary. They've done this before, so it's not like he has any good reason to be nervous. But for God's sake, give him a break – they've never had a hero on their hands; everyone usually cooperates just fine, but this damn man won't shut up.

"Sashi," he yells at the fiery woman, who trains her gun on the self-proclaimed hero, an old man who has seen far too many years if James is right. Times like these, they use their middle names to address each other. "_Shut him up!"_

"Put your hands where I can see them!" Jessie shouts through her mask. She wields her gun tightly at the man, who immediately slams his fist on an emergency button. James winces at the sound. The old man looks pointedly at Jessie, then to the few employees around him.

"The police will be coming," he warns Jessie, slowly raising his arms above his head. "You and your friends won't be getting away with this."

And Jessie laughs at that. It still nerves James, the way the man is looking between the two of them. Jessie is unfazed, however, and replies, "Cute effort. Sorry to inform you - we always get away." She shifts her eyes over to where James is. "Koji – get the money. I'll take care of them."

James nods, then moves in to grab the sacks of money that litter the floor by the shaken secretary. The poor woman looks like she's about to faint, shaking and sobbing like there's no tomorrow. He doesn't necessarily like this part of the job – though he is the one who suggested armed robbery, it was out of necessity rather than recreation. Sure, he knew what he was getting into, but he can't stomach times like these, when a gun is pointed at an innocent, when human lives are at risk.

No, they never told him he was going to be a soldier.

Meowth looks up at James and hisses at him. "C'mon Jimmy boy, we gots ta get outta here fast." The Pokemon nudges the man towards the truck, where James throws the bags of money in the back and gets in and starts it.

James heads back inside, his gut churning when he sees the old man has a gun as well. The two are at a standoff, like an old Western movie scene, and the bank is dead silent. Time is running out, but it is as if time has stood still. A vein in Jessie's forehead twitches – now she's flustered _and_ pissed, a combination that makes her even more deadly.

"You don't have to do this," the man tells Jessie patronizingly. "There are better options for you."

"Oh, you don't really think we'd be doing this if we didn't have to?" she says angrily, cocking her gun and focusing it on him. "This is the _only_ option for us."

"Please," the man pleads. "Don't make me hurt you."

"Shut the fuck up, old man, you're playing in our sand now."

James holds his breath. Oh, this really can't end well.

The old man lunges then.

The next few seconds are long and James is not quite sure what exactly happens. It's a blur – it's a gun being fired _(the shot heard 'round the bank)_, it's the secretary screaming her heart out, it's blood being splattered on white uniform and it's Meowth pulling him to the car.

He hears Jessie panicking, her words fast and stumbling on top of each other. He _drives_, oh he drives like he's never driven before, the brakes slipping away from him and the accelerator pressed hard against the floor. The sirens are gone and – for once, when it really matters, too – they are able to evade the police. Jessie has her face in her hands, tears streaming fast along her cheeks as he races through the road that leads them into a forest.

If he's in any good state right now, he's bringing them through the safe path that guides them to a Rocket safehouse.

"Pull over," Jessie whispers to him suddenly. He diverts his attention from the trees in front of him to his shaken partner, and worry and anger flash through him.

"We're not there yet," he says, bringing back his focus on the road.

"Fucking _pull over_, James."

Her grip tightens on the gun in her hands and he's absolutely terrified. He brings the car to the edge of the road, weary of the unstable woman beside him. Jessie's face is smeared with blood and she's visibly disturbed – signs that she's not in a good state, but who can blame her? She just killed a man, after all.

"Jess, yous okay?" Meowth queries rather softly, as if to comfort the woman.

"M'fine, just…" she trails off, sucking in a deep breath to steady herself. She clenches her teeth, continuing, "Bastard shot me, get me my bag, Meowth."

The cat rustles in the back in a flurry of movement, and moments later produces the purse and gives it to James. She exhales sharply through her teeth and pinches her side with her hands in complete agony. Still, she is giving orders, something that amuses James a bit.

"Bullet bounced off my rib, I think I'm okay," she says after awhile. She brings her eyes to James, then says, "Get Clefairy, I need her."

The Pokemon appears right away without James even retrieving her; immediately, it rushes over to Jessie in a panic, screeching its name in worry. Jessie winces, then cuts the Pokemon off, "I'll get you healed right away, I promise; Clefairy, use Healing Wish on my wound now."

The Pokemon does so, and just as James returns the now fainted Pokemon to its pokeball, Jessie's wound closes up. She leans back against the seat in relief, thankful that her life isn't in danger anymore. She shifts her eyes over to James and Meowth, who stare at her in shock.

"Are you sure you're okay, Jessie?" James asks. She can't be healthy just like that, after all, it's a _Pokemon_ move meant for _Pokemon_, not humans.

She nods. "Just a few percosets and I'll be fine; it just hurts like a bitch right now," she answers, her hands still pinched around her formerly injured skin. "The only worry I have is telling the Boss what happened. Let's go now, I'm okay."

James looks at Jessie as if she's crazy, but follows her directions anyway. If she says so…

**_-/-_**

_Now_

Ash looks at James like he's absolutely insane, which, to the lavender-haired Rocket, isn't such a far-fetched claim. The boy props his feet on top of the table and leans back, arms crossed against his chest to further display his disbelief.

"You're shitting me, James," he laughs, shaking his head. "You're tell me that you - a member of Team Rocket, Kanto's most well kept secret ring of drug-slash-pokemon-extortionists-slash-hitmen-slas h-general-criminals, the richest underground gang in all of the world - could not find any other means of impressing the Boss than robbing a fuckin' bank? Seriously?"

The criminal raises an eyebrow. "You've got to brush up on the history of the mafia, Ash. We weren't rolling in dough five years ago. The Boss was letting go of unnecessary teams back then to save money - he made a bad deal with Don Basco and needed a few hundred thousand bucks to save his ass. We spotted the money and saved a few people's asses and ours. Robbing a bank was the only option here. We needed the spotlight and we got it."

James stiffens. The damn spotlight cost him himself and the few people he ever cared about.

"Yeah? Yeah, well, look what happened to you and Jessie," Ash says, his tone grim and biting. "Maybe you were better off chasing Pikachu for the next five years."

The Rocket grunts in reply. "Right, well, even if that were the case - what's done is done. I can't change the past."

That's perhaps the most painful truth yet. No matter how much he prays, how long he's on his knees for a God that may or may not exist - he can't go back and change what had happened. He grimaces. It's a bitter pill to swallow, especially considering that the majority of his life he always got what he wanted. But now? The things he wants - needs - have no monetary value. Millions and millions of dollars won't buy back his happiness.

"Hey," Ash says, drawing him back to reality. He nods to the man's belt, where his Pokemon preside like guns in holsters. "What Pokemon do you carry now, now that you're a bigshot Executive?"

"Almost a full team now," James replies. "Got a Cacturne, a Carnivine, a Houndoom, and a Crobat. Could kick your ass, Ash Ketchum." He smiles at that last bit, patting the Pokeballs fondly.

"Like you'd have a chance," Ash snorts.

James only shakes his head. "One of these days, we'll battle. One of these days..." He glances at the clock and wets his lips. "Now, where were we?"

* * *

**A/N: **Sorry for the late update... lol... I've been busy. In the meantime, please review! All you people viewing and not _re_viewing makes me think no one wants to read it ;-;

Shoutout to** xSodeNoZangetsux **for reviewing last chapter! Until next time! x Tori


	3. Chapter 3

**WICKED GAMES**

* * *

**chapter two ::** _good news and cigarette smoke  
_

* * *

_Then_

"What do you have for me, Jessie? James?" Giovanni drawls. His Persian sits atop his desk, purring and looking intently at the two agents through the screen. He doesn't look too pleased to see the Beta Agents, but perhaps it is because in Kanto it's around 2 AM and they had interrupted his night with their findings. "More failure?" he asks with an eye roll.

"No sir," James says hesitantly. That's the thing with Giovanni – he always expects nothing short of failure from them. It's almost pitiful, if it weren't so true. How long have they been chasing that Pikachu now? Three, four years?

He shudders at the thought.

"Then what do you want? Couldn't this have waited for tomorrow?" the Boss asks impatiently. He flicks his eyes over to where Jessie stands – or rather, where she leans onto James's shoulder for support. James immediately reaches out his arm and slings it around her waist, as if to help her up.

Giovanni raises an eyebrow. "Is something wrong, Jessie?" His Persian, too, is curious, and lifts his head up to peer at the two agents.

"E-Everything is _fine_, Boss," she says, but the falter is unmistakable. James grips her tighter to subdue any pain she might have, but it is to no avail – her hands fly to her wounded side, groaning softly as she does so.

"Whose blood is on your shirt?" Giovanni says quickly, sitting straighter as his interest peaks. "Are you hurt?"

"It's just a flesh wound, sir," Jessie assures, but no one is convinced. A flesh wound doesn't make you grip at something,_ anything_ solid for support. It doesn't cripple you to the point of despair. James had not noticed before, but she's in extreme pain. Her act was too good, he supposes, that he had not noticed his own partner was in agony.

"Were you shot?" he asks right away. Jessie keeps a straight face, then, choosing not to answer his question. Giovanni then looks to James for answers. "Was she shot? What did you two _do_ today?"

James steals a look at Jessie, who casts a look to the side. He feels bad, really, he does. It's like he's being forced into a corner at gunpoint and tell all tales even though he doesn't want to – Giovanni is no less frightening than a cocked gun, and the tales he must tell are that of Jessie's greatest fear: her weakness. This, coupled with mental and physical exhaustion, makes his mind whirl.

He doesn't say anything for a few moments; it isn't until Jessie nudges him in the ribs that he finally musters up the courage to tell the Boss what had happened.

"We went to Ecruteak and – well, we robbed a bank. All in the name of Team Rocket, of course," he adds quickly, noting the slight crease in the Boss's lips. Wetting his lips, he continues, "An estimated two-hundred-thousand dollars have been deposited in our balance, Boss; it is for you to withdraw. We also snagged some Pokemon, though we have no idea what worth they have to you."

"It all helps," Giovanni affirms, nodding curtly. "You did good. Was anyone hurt? Killed?"

The lavender-headed agent freezes. He's about to claim all fault, but Jessie beats him to it.

"The man – the manager, he was about to shoot James when he turned away. I couldn't let that happen, sir, after all it is taught during Training that if it is necessary to take the fall for your partner, you must do so," Jessie says softly, glancing at James as she whispers the last bit. "I stepped in the line of fire and the bullet bounced off a rib, I believe, but my Clefairy had healed me to the best of her abilities... I killed the man out of necessity, Boss. I apologize for any inconvenience that may arise because of his murder by my hands."

There is a long silence, and after a few seconds, James feels wetness collect on his shoulder – he looks over at Jessie, who is crying silently, stilled to be strong but breaking all the same. Whether the tears are due to pain or to the fact that she may have just cast herself out of Team Rocket, if not killed herself, with that confession, it doesn't matter; Jessie doesn't cry, even when she has every right to. To see teardrops roll down her cheeks pains him in every way.

If he could make her tears stop, he would.

Finally, Giovanni brings his eyes to meet Jessie's through the screen. "Come back to Kanto. I'll send Petrel to collect you two and Meowth safely. I assume you're in the Ecruteak safe house, yes?"

"Yes – I…" Jessie stammers. She's surprised, just as James is. He had half-expected Giovanni to come through the screen and shoot Jessie dead right then and there for taking a life that she had not been ordered to take.

"Why are you crying, Miss Miyamoto?" the Boss asks, his smirk still prevalent on his lips.

"Because I just thought you were going to… _fire_ me, or something," she says, her eyes wide with surprise.

"I see no reason to terminate my newest Alpha agents. After all, you did bring fortune to the family. Why should I get rid of you for that?"

James furrows his brows and stares at Giovanni in surprise._ Alpha agents?_ _Were we just promoted? _he wonders to himself.

Dumbfounded, Jessie blurts out, "Because I killed someone that I wasn't ordered to kill!"

The man on the screen crosses his arms and leans forward, as if to let the duo in on a secret. "Well, while I usually have reservations on rogue hits, I see that this one was quite noble of you, Jessie. I admire your bravery. For that, I _reward_ you, not take away – what kind of man do you perceive me to be?"

A thousand words and phrases run through James's mind, then - murderer, extortionist, drug lord, criminal, a man of a million vices and an unforgiving sinner – but there is only one that James can truly amend to right this second. _A benevolent man._

"But of course your actions will not go unseen by the public eye," Giovanni continues aimlessly. "The authorities will start to snoop, as they know that you two are associated with Team Rocket. As you know, we are already in troubled waters concerning our relationship with the police; I do not want to lose you two, so two grunts will be sent in your place with Petrel as their escort."

And even Jessie stiffens at that. James clenches his teeth to prevent himself from arguing – sick, yes, and undoubtedly cruel, but it is better for strangers to take the fall than have his best friend be thrown into prison for the rest of her life.

"I only ask you two to not inform the incoming grunts of their fate. I am not a wicked man – I do not want these grunts to be scared and fail to do what I wish them to do; merely treat them as you would, but nothing more than that. I don't like suspicion, even from within. You understand?"

The duo could only nod in reply.

"Good; Petrel will be there in a couple days. I will be sending one of my contacts in Ecruteak to heal up Jessie's wounds tomorrow morning. His name is Edward Isaru – an old friend of mine, who I trust you two will welcome," Giovanni finishes, his tone final. "Good night and congratulations on your promotion."

The screen clicks off, and the two are left in a darkened room. Jessie exhales a pained breath, her hands releasing her wounded side and gripping the nearest solid thing she could find – James's shoulder.

"I don't think you're okay," James says, raising an eyebrow.

"I'm fine."

However, the way she walks with a limp tells him something different.

They start to walk out of the communications room – well, actually, James walks and Jessie leans all her weight on him. He doesn't mind, really. He's missed this sort of contact with her; lately, she's been far less touchy-feely and more annoyed and irritated. But when they near closer and closer to the living room, her breathing becomes more ragged, more labored. It's as if it hurt like hell to just even walk a few steps.

_Oh_, how could he be so stupid? Of course it did - she was shot, for crissakes.

"Jessie…" he warns as he brings them over to the couch. She collapses into the cushions, much to the chagrin of the sleeping Meowth. The cat shifts to the farther end of the sofa, grumbling something about _damn humans_ as he does so. James takes a seat right next to the woman, who appears to be fighting a war against her wound and _losing_.

"Let me look at it," James urges, trying his best to look at her in the eyes.

"I'm fine," she snaps as she slightly pushes him away. Scowling at him, she says, "Don't treat me like an invalid. I know when I'm fine. Besides, the doctor will be here tomorrow and – arghh…"

Her sudden groan startles him. She leans forward and grips the edge of the table, her eyes closing shut as she lets out another labored breath. James catches her before she could collapse to the floor and gently brings her back to the sofa.

"Now would you let me look at it? Maybe I could help," James offers as he slips a hand in hers for comfort. "I'm competent with a first-aid kit, you know."

Yet even in her pain, Jessie manages to glare at him, her cheeks turning a furious red as a result. "I said I'm fine, James."

"Damn it, Jessica! Swallow your pride," James finally snaps at her, flustered at the thought of her denying his help even when she needs it. Jessie's always like that – always thinking she's invincible when she's not, not by a long shot.

Jessie doesn't budge, still furious at his offer. He's about to say something when she grumbles under her breath, something that sounds like a cross between "okay," and "fuck you," and gets up. She stands directly in front of him, wobbling a bit as she tries the steady herself.

"Put your hands on my shoulders so you won't fall over," he instructs. Begrudgingly, she does so.

Gingerly, he lifts up her bloodied shirt, revealing the tanned and toned stomach underneath. He blushes – sure, he's seen Jessie in a bikini before, and hell, he's seen her just in her bra and panties. So why is this any different? He shakes his head – now isn't the time to be ogling at his partner.

His hand roams her stomach, looking for any protruding bones, bullet holes she's maybe missed, anything that could be causing her thing much pain. Nothing. He lifts her shirt higher, and that's when he sees it. Where the bullet had entered her skin and where Clefairy had healed her wound is now a yellow, black and blue bruise. Entranced and slightly concerned, James brushes his fingers over the surface of the injury. He is immediately met with Jessie clutching his shoulders, throwing her weight forward against him. He steadies her, then, catching her by the elbows before she collapses completely.

"Fucking A," she says through clenched teeth, her nails piercing through the fabric and latching on his skin. He grimaces, but disregards it.

James settles her back onto the couch. "Sorry," he mutters as she molds into him. Shifting to give her space, he says, "It's just a bruised rib. You just need ice – let me get some for you, hold on."

He's no doctor, but he knows that this kind of injury won't heal quickly. At the very least, she'll be out for three weeks, which will surely put a dent in their work. Not like it matters, not like he cares. They need a break, after all – three long years of being electrocuted on the daily does put a hamper on one's health, contrary to popular belief.

Well. They won't have to worry about the twerps and that damn rat any longer. They've got bigger and better things ahead of them, that's for sure.

When James ventures back to the sofa, an ice pack and a couple beers in hand, he is met with the rich, yet bitter, stench of a friend he thought he'd never meet again – cigarette smoke. He sighs inwardly, trudging through moth-eaten furniture to get to Jessie and the stick between her middle and index finger. She takes a long drag, a trail of smoke following her breath and pervading the air around them. She seems unfazed by his presence; her eyes are focused on the light at the end of the cigarette as if she is completely and utterly engrossed in the stale reefer.

He sets down the ice pack and the bottles on the coffee table; still, she makes no sign of acknowledgement and continues sucking on the smoke as if her life depends on it.

"You _really_ shouldn't be smoking with that knocked up rib of yours," he tells her as he sits in the spot next to her. "You're just going to make it worse."

Still, no response.

Knitting his eyebrows together, he reaches forward and grabs the Corona in front of him and snaps off the bottle cap. He holds the cap up to his eye, then stuffs it in his pocket as he takes a long sip. "Think that one's a memorable one. The night we got promoted is something worth reminiscing about. Wouldn't you agree, Jess?"

There's only silence, save for her labored breathing and the unsteady puffs-and-huffs of a cigarette.

He turns and looks at her, expecting some sort of response from the woman. She gives none, not even eye contact.

Slightly bothered, James goes to grab the distraction between her teeth; suddenly, her fingers wrap around his wrist, stopping him before he could steal it from her. She looks at him, and it's lethargic, catatonic if anything. Lazily, she tugs his hands towards her, lacing her fingers around his, and it's like she could fit right in his pocket, too.

"Hey," he murmurs softly. "You okay?"

She laughs like she's alright, but she's not. Using her free hand, she snubs the light on the sofa arm and flicks it to the floor by her feet, crushing it to oblivion with her heels. Her answer is quiet, her words trapped between the ebb-and-flow of pain, excitement, happiness and grief, "I killed a man, James."

This throws him, but when does she not?

And it's understandable. She's never killed a person before; maybe she's held guns to heads and shot bullets into limbs but never has she aimed at someone's heart and pulled the trigger. Truth be told, he doesn't know what she's feeling right now. Regret? Fear? Disgust? Satisfaction? Or is it none of the above?

He's never killed a person, either, so he can't really compare.

But she shouldn't feel this way – like she's hopelessly lost in a sea of despair. She saved his life, and probably her own as well. Hell, she saved the entire operation and added a quarter of a million dollars to the gang's bank account - there's some credit in that.

So he traces his thumb over hers and says, "I know. But you saved my life, so I thank you for that."

"If he was aiming to kill me, I – " she trails off, yanking her hand away from his. She places both of them in her lap and shakes her head. "I probably wouldn't have shot him."

"Maybe you wouldn't, but I would have," he tells her, assures her. It's only true, after all.

"I know you would."

"Well," he says with a sense of finality, "There you go then."

She only grunts in reply. "I think I'm going to sleep. You should too. It's been a long day for all of us."

"I think I'll stay up," he says. "I can't stop thinking about…"

He glances at her, then smiles and takes a sip of his beer.

"About what?"

"About our promotion. About the fact that we're finally getting somewhere in this damn job," he says with a laugh. He stares at the Team Rocket insignia on the wall right across them, and then points to it. "Finally, they recognize us."

He feels a nudge in his side. She's looking at him like he's a star, like he's some bright and shining star right in front of her. James smiles slightly; she does, too.

"What?" he murmurs, nudging her thigh with his bottle. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Do you realize what this means, James Morgan?" she asks, her tone incredulous with a hint of playfulness. "We'll be at the top. We'll be at the head of this damn team before we know it. James, we're here, we're finally here." She laughs, and it's a bit bitter and it's a bit happy, but it's Jessie all the same. She rolls her head to rest on his shoulder and whisks the bottle out of his hands, taking a swig out of it as she concludes, "You're welcome."

"For what?"

And God, her laugh could cure the world of all evils and purge the Earth of all twerps. He lives for the happiness of his best friend, if he really thinks about it.

"Well, without me, you'd be nowhere," she teases, poking her tongue out of her teeth as she steals another sip of the liquor. "You owe it all to me for our success, Jimmy-boy. If I weren't your partner, you'd be hopelessly lost and doing dogsbody work. So, you're welcome."

James raises a single eyebrow. Acting as if he is considering it, he strokes his imaginary beard, humming in thought. "Well if I recall correctly, if I hadn't suggested robbery, we'd still be chasing that Pikachu."

"But if I hadn't saved your ass, you'd be as good as dead and I'd be in the cooler for attempted murder and robbery," she points out, her tone sickly sweet and almost musical.

"Touché," he replies with a grin. "Alright, I admit it. Without you, I'd be nowhere."

"There we go!" she says, clapping her hands slowly and mockingly.

"But," James continues on without missing a beat. "If I weren't your partner, you wouldn't be half as happy as you are now."

And right as the words leave his mouth, he is slammed with a short-lived silence, save for the soft snores of the cat pokemon on the ottoman beside them. It is then, he realizes, that he has got it bad for his partner, his best friend, the only person he actually gives a shit about in this lonely, lonely world. And that is easily the worst mistake a criminal could make.

Jessie shifts her head to look up at him. He swallows and brings the bottle in her hands to his lips.

"I suppose you're right about that," Jessie murmurs.

"You suppose?" he repeats softly.

She punches him right in the stomach, causing him to cough up the beer that he just swallowed.

"Don't be like that, James. Fish for compliments and all you're gonna get is a Magikarp," she reprimands.

"But a Magikarp evolves into a Gyarados – "

Once again, he is pummeled with a fist.

"Oof, you punch hard," he complains with a pout. Rubbing his stomach, he moans, "I think you permanently dented my stomach."

"Good. Now go to sleep."

"Where?" James looks around – no beds, not cots, nothing. Just the couch and the ottoman, both of which are occupied by his partners-in-crime.

"Don't look at _me_," she says nonchalantly. "_I'm_ the wounded woman._ I_ get the makeshift bed."

"So you want me to sleep on the floor?"

Jessie curls on her wounded side, stifling a pained intake of breath. "That is the plan."

Groaning, James takes a pillow from under her feet – which is not without her kicking him in the side in protest, but he wins out – and sets it on the floor next to the couch. Unfortunately for him, the tiles look like it hasn't been cleaned in months and the stains are quite dubious to him – plus, it's cold and hard and definitely not conducive to a healthy back, all of which makes it hard for him to drift off to sleep.

Whatever.

"This is bullshit," he complains, but his only answer is the creak in the door made by the wind and the Hoothoots that fly by in the night. The silence is punctuated by the eased inhale-and-exhaleof Jessie's breathing and the sound of Meowth kicking in his sleep, but he likes it like that. Quietude never did suit them right, after all.

* * *

**A/N:** It took me sooooo long to finally be satisfied with this chapter, but even then, I think it could have been better. But, I don't want to neglect all of you readers! And I think I've decided that there will be an update every Monday or so. No promise, though, lol, but expect it around then. Thank you to those who have reviewed/alerted - shoutout to **xSodeNoZangetsux, CeruleanWaves11, StormyNight55, and Peaches-Destroyer**! As you all wait for the next chapter, review! It's the only way I know people are actually interested and that I'm doing alright!

Oh, and I have to ask - is the anime any good lately? I might start watching it again, but I didn't particularly like the Unova region in Black/White. And is anyone else excited for the new Fairy typing for X&Y? ^-^

Until next time - x Tori.


	4. Chapter 4

**WICKED GAMES**

* * *

Disclaimer: I don't own anything except the story itself. All recognizable locations, characters, etc. belong to Nintendo and Game Freak.

* * *

**chapter three ::** _the calm before the storm_

* * *

_Now_

"So you mean to tell me that even _then_ you loved Jessie?" Ash asks with a grin, waggling his eyebrows as if to suggest something. "That was like what, six years ago?"

James sighs inwardly, crossing his arms to show his impatience. The boy may be eighteen, and he may be a legal adult, but he's still arrogant and immature, two traits that the Rocket has no tolerance for. And it isn't that he hates Ash – really, if anything he is just annoyed by the former League Champ – but he'd rather spend his time doing something else. Talking to him is like licking chapped lips on a cold winter day: temporarily relieving, but it's pointless and will do more harm than good.

"This isn't a love story, Ash," James reminds him with an even tone. "Far from it."

"I know it isn't, but as much as I formerly and, in your case, _currently_ despise you and Jessie, I always thought you two were a match made in Heaven," he says.

Oh, of course Ash would make a roundabout back to the never-ending feud between the two of them. James rolls his eyes and, as if defeated and irritated, slams his fist on the table. Exasperated, James says, "Look, I don't have to tell you anything because simply put, you really don't deserve to hear any of this shit. I could just leave the house now that you're here. I could just turn around and come back when your mom calls me back home. I don't have to entertain you if you're just going to be rude."

James is angry, of course, and lately he's been finding it hard to keep his rage at bay. He tries, though. He'd rather not hurt the piece of shit in front of him, if only for the sake of his mother.

"Where would you go?" Ash taunts, as if amused at the thought of James actually going somewhere. "Back home? Nurse your addiction? Or what, back to Headquarters and receive more orders to kill?"

The Rocket bites his tongue to prevent from exploding on the boy. _He's being stupid, he's poking a sleeping giant with a stick, he's provoking me - James_, **control** _yourself_ – his fists curl and his nails dig half-moons into his skin; any tighter, blood would be drawn. Everything that comes out of his mouth is absurd and outright insulting. It would do him _so_ well to pummel his face into the ground.

"Ash, I strongly suggest you shut the fuck up," James warns, his voice edged with rage.

The boy sports a smirk on his tight lips, as if to challenge the man. "Why, am I awaking the Hulk in you? Big green monster gonna erupt and kill me? Or – "

In the blink of an eye, James finds himself pressing the boy's face against the table, gun trained on the base of his neck, and his hands secured behind his back. He whimpers, reduced to nothing but fear and pleads for his life.

James wouldn't kill Ash, but he doesn't know that.

"I'm going to count to three," James says slowly, digging the pistol into the squirming boy's neck, "And you're going to apologize."

"I'm sorry!"

"One…"

"James!"

He just grins, laughing to himself because the safety is on, and yet Ash is too scared to bits to notice.

"…Two…"

"Dude, I'm sorry, _letmego_!" Ash screams, struggling against his hold.

"…Three."

True to his word, he releases the boy. Unfortunately, he's still as bold and brash and stupidly brave as before – Ash lunges at James and the gun, eyes wild with anger and fright. Acting upon his years of training and practice, the Rocket, who has seen too many deaths and lived through too many close encounters, blocks the incoming fist and slams it to the table. He didn't use enough force to break the bone, but enough to temporarily paralyze the fingers.

"Ah _fuck_," Ash screams out, cradling his wounded hand.

"Are you ready to stop being a rude prick and listen?" James asks patronizingly.

Defeated, Ash nods, grumbling, "Whatever, man."

**__****-/-**

"So you robbed a bank?"

"Yep."

"And that was the first time you killed someone?"

"Mhm."

"Well - you've done worse things."

Jessie sits in her chair with her knees pressed tight against her chest, her arms wrapped around them like she's afraid to let go. She nuzzles her chin on the crest of her bent knees, her voice almost unheard if Delia wasn't so close to her. "I wouldn't have thought I would do worse things, back then."

Her nerves are so shaken that she almost doesn't want to continue. What's the point, anyhow? How would telling a damn story change anything? But then she remembers that Delia is, if anything, a miracle worker. Perhaps, Jessie muses to herself, she'd be able to pull some coincidental solution out of her ass and make everything all better.

Stories like these, though, don't have happy endings.

_I need a cigarette_, Jessie thinks as she reaches for her purse next to Delia.

"I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't smoke," the older woman says softly as Jessie clicks the lighter to light the end of the stick.

However, the Rocket is unfazed by the request and blows the smoke into the other direction, away from Delia and towards the open window behind her chair. She hangs it off of her lips and stretches her arms up above her head - they've killed about twenty minutes, but sitting in the same position is anything but comfortable. Cautiously, she lets her voice approach Delia with a murmur, "Would you like to hear more?"

"I'm a firm believer in finishing what you start," the mother says with a wry smile.

Jessie laughs. "I suppose that's why you stick with Giovanni, after all is said and done."

Delia only hums in response. The woman smooths out the bed sheets and lies down, a soft sigh emitting from her lips as she does so. Giggling, she says, "Oh, my body is not what it used to be, Jessie. I'm so tired."

The agent gives a humorless smile. "Don't sleep there," Jessie says, nodding to the bed. She makes a disgusted face and explains, "This motel is bug-ridden and filthy. Sleep on the pull-out; it's much cleaner."

"Oh, dear, I've been in worse beds."

"Like Giovanni's, huh?"

They glanced at each other warily until the two of them erupt in laughter, a sound so sweet to both their ears. It's been a long while since the Rocket had been giddy and - for lack of a better word - so responsive. A year of wallowing in a pool of self-pity and treading in no man's land has gotten to the best of her; for once, it's good to laugh. She snubs the cigarette out on the chair arm and flicks it to the nearest bin. Carelessly, she says, "So Doctor Edward Isharu. We imagined this boss-like son of a bitch, a cookie-cutter quack doctor that only Giovanni would rub elbows with."

"You must've been surprised, then," Delia says with a lithe chuckle, "Eddy's not much of a mobster."

Jessie rests her head against her kneecaps, biting her cheek to keep from saying anything to combat that. "Nah, not a mobster," she says quite sadly, "But a good man. Better than the rest of us. Better than anyone."

**_-/-_**

_Then_

It's about six o'clock in the morning when Jessie stirs awake, half because she needs to pee, and half because she is sure that a person had just opened the door to the entrance of the safe house. Cautiously, she peers over to the foot of the couch, where Meowth is snoring on the ottoman, seemingly have curled up into a ball during the night. She then cranes her head to look down at where James had taken refuge down below – he is still very much asleep, and is apparently cuddling with her fallen pillow.

Sighing, she swings her legs over and quietly lands on her feet by his head. Still, he proves to be a heavy sleeper (no surprise there) and moves away from her and closer to the coffee table. Jessie rolls her eyes and smacks him awake, hissing, "James, _wake up_."

"Gimme five more minutes, Jess," he murmurs back, digging his face into the pillow, no doubt tired as ever.

She is having none of it, however; the Rocket violently shakes the man awake, screeching (somehow silently), "James, I swear to _God_, if we get killed because you won't get off your lazy ass—"

He groans at that.

"I'm up, I'm _up_," James says with reluctance. He gets up without another word, and stealthily, sneaks past Jessie and into the kitchen, where she had wordlessly told him the intruder was.

She slips behind him, edging towards the threat but with James as a shield. Carefully, she places a hand on his shoulder, partly because her side still hurt, and partly to give him some comfort and encouragement. He gives a noise of appreciation in reply and nods to the gun in his back pocket, as if for her to take. Immediately, she does, and grips it tightly in her hands.

The gun feels right with her, as strange as it seems, and it scares her. Before, it was a foreign object, something she didn't feel comfortable with and wanted to be without if she could help it. But right now — it's a security, a safety. It's a gift, really, because without it, she wouldn't be here. Or at least, here like _this_. Certainly, James wouldn't have been here, either.

The gun is nothing short of a blessing.

"Jessie," James says under his breath, motioning for her to come closer.

Breaking from her thoughts, she nears the entrance of the kitchen, back against the wall, right behind her partner. She aims the gun at a moving target — and in the dark, it's nearly impossible to see who it is, or what — who seems to be coming closer and closer and—

"_Stop right there!_" James booms, a revolver of his own trained on the man before them.

The yelp from the man in question is almost laughable, and the tea cup in his hands drop to the floor and shatters. "Woah, man, don't shoot," the intruder sputters out, holding his hands above his head. The stout man sports a nervous grin on his face, his eyes somehow convincing but nonetheless shady. "Giovanni sent me. I'm Edward Isharu - I'm here to fix up Jessie."

"Doubt it," she says through her teeth as she moves out from James's shadow. Tightening her hold on the pistol as she spits out, "Prove it."

"It's in my wallet," the man says. He motions to his back pocket with his elbow, but quickly recoils at the sound of the safety on James's gun turning off.

"Jessie, go get his wallet."

She steals a glimpse of her partner and nods – he's all nerves and focus, an inimical mix that he owns so well, and he grips the gun so securely she'd think it'd disappear. Hurriedly, she glides past the stalemate between the two men, slipping behind the so-called doctor in order to dig through his pockets. Her fingers eventually make past the gum wrappers and old receipts and takes out an old and tattered scrap of leather, which she assumes to be his wallet.

"My ID is inside the front slot, the see-through thing," the man instructs. He throws his words back to James, adding a rather snarky, "Now will you _please_ get that gun out of my face?"

"Not until I'm sure you're who you say you are."

Jessie, meanwhile, scans through his identification card – and sure enough, it's him: Doctor Edward Isharu, age forty-two, and with a family if the pictures in the other slots are anything to go by: two daughters, one son, and a wife just as old as he is. A family man, which is surprising considering he's a part of Team Rocket. Frowning, Jessie folds everything back into his wallet and says hurriedly, "He's clean, James. It's really him."

"_Finally,_" Edward says sarcastically. "Didn't know you two would be armed, my _God_. You almost blew my head off."

Jessie ventures back by James's side. Sheepishly, her partner scratches at his neck as he clicks the safety on, shoving it back in his pocket before he says, "Sorry, Doctor. Just had to be sure, especially considering the police might be tailing us."

"Understandable, really," Edward says. "I'd be more worried if you had immediately trusted me – now _that_, I'd have to complain to Giovanni about. As long as you're sorry…" He trails off as he flashes a wide grin at the two agents. "Now! Introductions aside, let's start on look at that injury of yours, Jessie."

"Of course, thank you," she says, bowing respectfully at the notion.

The three start for the common room, until Edward interrupts with an enthusiastic, "Wait – I need my tea before I start channeling my medical education. James, would you be so kind and make us a cup?"

**-/-**

"Your clefairy has done a marvelous job in taking care of the bullet and the internal bleeding," Dr. Isharu says. He moves his hands down Jessie's yellowed skin and brushes his thumb tight against the crevices of her ribs, to which Jessie responds with a heavy sigh. "She's fixed you up rather well for an untrained pokemon."

The doctor heaves his chest and looks up at James and Meowth, who had been peering at the over his shoulders to take a good look at the "patient." Glaring at them, the doctor shifts backward so that the two would step away and give him some space. Seemingly lackluster, the doctor shrugs and says, "It's a bruised rib. There's nothing much I can do but tell you to ice it."

Meowth, however, is unconvinced; readying his claws, he says sharply, "But why canst da clefairy just do anotha healin' wish and clean Jessie up? Seems a bit fishy, doc."

"Yes, well, that'd a happy coincidence if you ask me. Clefairy's move won't do much more to her rib; as you know, it's a Pokemon move built for healing _Pokemon," _the doctor says rather bitingly, fixing his stare on Jessie_._ "The human anatomy is vastly different than any other, except for perhaps a few fighting types," Isharu says as he reaches over for his teacup on the coffee table. "Yet even then. If you press your clefairy too much to heal Jessie's wound, it could be detrimental and, worse case scenario, be irreversible."

"So you're saying we can't use Clefairy for healing anymore?" Jessie interjects, slightly disappointed that her investment in that Pokemon has gone down the drain. Her purchase of that Pokemon was solely for healing her and her partners. Now, it's not worth much more than a standard first aid kit.

But Isharu shakes his head at that. "No, I'm saying it's a bad idea. It's not ideal for an everyday situation. But, well, that Pokemon saved your life, so there's some credit due."

"Of course," James says, nodding firmly in agreement. "Thank you."

"What do you recommend for me, then?" Jessie asks as Isharu moves to collect his things. She reaches for his wrist and tugs him closer. Worried for her recently claimed position, she asks, her voice barely a whisper, "How long would I be gone?"

The doctor, however, is not an empathetic man. As if the most obvious thing, he says shortly, "It's a bruised rib, not a punctured lung. You'll live."

"How long will I be out?" she persists, her tone lowering to display her growing temper.

"Depends on your priorities. A week for half-recovery, two for three-fourths, three for total, and a month for little to no pain. Take your pick," he says. He cracks a knowing smile at the three agents, as if he is aware that they are waiting for his final say. Bending down to pick up his suitcase, the doctor adds, "Knowing Giovanni, I would go back in two weeks."

Jessie nods in understanding. Though she's not too pleased that she would not be able to start her new life as quickly as she thought, Jessie knows that a good break is due for the three of them. After all, three years of utter failure hurts not just their pride, but their health as well. A small medical leave could be beneficial in the long run.

Releasing his wrist, she stands and bows in thanks. While the doctor hadn't needed to come — as James had provided the same diagnosis as he had — Giovanni had told them to be respectful, and she's not one to argue with the Boss.

"Please stay for more tea, Doctor," James says as they walk him to the door. The lavender-haired agent reaches forward for the knob and yanks the door open, letting in the sun that managed to break through the canopies of the forest around.

"Not everyday we gets a visitor," Meowth adds in as he hops on James's shoulders. "Nice ta see a face that ain't a kid's."

Isharu gives a humorous smile and pats his chest softly. "The wife's got me on a no-tea diet. Says too much will make my heart give out, so she's making me quit cold turkey."

"One cup won't hurt you, Doctor Isharu," Jessie muses with a smile. She grabs forward at his wrist and tugs him back inside. "Come on, James makes a good biscuit, too."

Her partner shoots her a questioning look, as does the Meowth perched on his shoulders. To say her behavior is abnormal would be an understatement; Jessie is not a friendly woman, and especially not one to give warm welcomes. But she has her reasons, of course. The man seems like a great ally, and good man to boot, and something about him having a family sparked her interest.

She'd love to know him, if she's honest with herself.

**_-/-_**

The doctor was telling some anecdote at the table, sipping what Jessie counted to be his third cup of tea, and nibbling on the last of the biscuits on the table. It was something about his daughter - Sakura, was it? - and her newfound interest in Pokemon training. James and Meowth have gone outside to get firewood — the agents that used the safehouse before them had been so kind and cleared out the last of the kindle and not replenish it for the next, so if they wanted to survive another day, the two of them had to go out and fetch some.

Which left the old doctor to munch on refreshments and Jessie to entertain.

It isn't a bore, though, as the man is an interesting one. For a couple minutes the two of them have been talking about his daughters, which Jessie had found a very intriguing subject. The older one, Sakura, has just turned twelve and wishes to pursue a Pokemon training career, which Jessie finds laughable. For a child born with a foot in the Team Rocket business, she sure has chosen a moral path.

"How do you do it?" Jessie asks as she pours herself a cup of tea. As she tucks her pinky under the cooled kettle to soften its landing on the table, she clarifies her question, "Having a family, I mean. Being a doctor for Team Rocket isn't a flexible job, I'm guessing."

The doctor arches an eyebrow at her randomly-thrown question. "Well, that's not my real job, if that's what you're asking. It's not what I put down on the census, anyway."

"Of course not," she says with a laugh, "Like how I don't put 'Team Rocket agent' in as my profession when it comes to taxes. Then again, I don't pay taxes, but if I did, I would be, oh," she trails off, cupping her chin with her fingers. "I don't know. Rocketto clerk, maybe?"

He grins wildly in response. Jessie flashes him a smile that mirrors his own, and she's hit with a liking for this man. It's not that she's interested _in_ him — rather, she's interested to learn _about_ him. Not everyday you get to learn about a life of your everyday Rocket affiliate. She turns the kettle around and rubs the sides of the metal, brushing away the drops of condensation that line the base of the appliance, an old trick her mother taught her to keep the kettle shiny when she was young.

The doctor stares her, almost transfixed. A glint of recognition passes through his eyes, but she brushes it off as something friendly. Burnt out, he says wearily, like he's rehearsed this many times, "Officially, I'm a Silph scientist. The authorities don't question it and it's a good cover for what I really do." He gives a wry smile, all coy and mysterious and as if he's trying impress her.

Jessie only rolls her eyes. "What do you _really_ do, then, Doctor Isharu?"

The man's steely grey eyes flick over to the clock overhead and squints; murmuring something about time and new glasses, he pushes his spectacles up on the bridge of his nose. "I _suppose_ I have time."

"Oh, shut up and tell me."

He holds up his hands in mock surrender. Leaning back against his chair, he pouts his lips to look like he had been defeated. "Alright, alright," he chuckles. "I'm just an on-call doctor. Giovanni calls me when he needs me and I'll go to whichever agent needs saving. Usually, they're urgent cases but you... well, you're not dying, are you? ...No, see, today was a good break for me. And when I'm not a doctor, I'm a recruiter, and when I'm not recruiting, I research. But most of the time I'm saving people, which I guess isn't too malicious for such an organization."

"You're saving bad people," Jessie points out, smirking into her teacup.

"Well, _you're_ not bad."

Jessie almost snorts at that. While she's not Satan, she's no angel, either. She's had her fair share of sins on the daily, and the future foresees her doing the same thing for as long as she lives. She's a bad person, in every sense of the phrase, and to say she isn't would be like saying a pikachu isn't yellow, or a swellow won't sing. It just doesn't work that way.

"I've killed a man, lest you forget," she says almost humorously.

"So have I."

"You're a _doctor_," Jessie says slowly, making sure that she heard him correctly. Puzzled, she clarifies, "Doctors save people. Right?"

He only shrugs. "I've had bad days."

It's vague, and she wants to press on but the way he looks out the window with a tight-lipped smile and a hand midway through his meadow-like green hair tells her that he doesn't want to talk about it. Instead, she folds her hands into her lap and nods to the wallet that sits off to the side by his abandoned teacup. "Tell me how you managed to settle down. Do they even know you're fixing up the villains in your spare time?"

"Of course not," he says with a shake of a head. Wistfully, he adds, "The wife knows, though, but my kids — they still think I'm working an honest job. _My_ daddy's a Silph scientist, he saves Pokemon and people alike, they tell their friends." The way he hangs his head in laughter is painfully rueful, and Jessie almost feels bad.

Jaded, she asks, "You won't tell them, I assume?"

He shakes his head at that. "Not in the business of ruining childhood dreams, no."

Jessie hums in response. She slides her plate forward slightly and sets her empty teacup on the top, prompting Doctor Isharu to do the same. Getting up, she places both their dishes in the sink and walks him over to the door. Finding the breeze in the forest a little too cool for her taste, she crosses her arms as he steps outside, his bag hanging off his shoulders like a soldier going to war — or, in his case, an agent going back home.

"Thank you, Doctor Isharu," she says with a bow.

"Call me Eddy," he replies with a calm, soothing smile. "I project I'd be seeing you three a lot, with what you all being trigger happy kids and such. Formalities will serve useless in that case."

"Okay... Eddy."

He nods approvingly, and Jessie takes it to mind for the next time. She waves him off and watches him disappear into the thickness of the Ecruteak Woods, marveling on how they seem to swallow him in their abundance of trees. She heads back inside and sits back in her seat. His visit and his stories made her smile, but now, she wonders why he managed to pull off the family man act so well whilst her mother shipped her off to foster parents when she got the first chance. She wonders what might have been if her mother had kept her for a little longer.

Sighing, she goes to make herself another cup of tea. There's no use in lingering on the what ifs, after all.

**_-/-_**

"How's da docta, Jess?" Meowth asks as he stuffs his face with stale dim sum that James found searching through the freezer. The cat pokemon looks up at the lack of response — Jessie had been stirring her coffee absentmindedly, her chin resting on her palm as she stares at the wall in front of her. She'd been thinking about a lot of things for the past hour, mainly concerning her mother, her job, her future, and — as weird as it is — Doctor Isharu.

It's all a bit overwhelming, really.

Meowth gets up on the table and shakes his paw in front of the red-head's face. "Jessie? Ya dere?"

Flinching back into reality, she pulls her spoon all too close to her and tips her cup over and onto her lap. Groaning, she shoots a glare at Meowth and reaches for a few napkins to dab her sweatpants dry.

"You're lucky that coffee was cold," Jessie snaps when she wriggles out of her stained and damp sweats. "Otherwise, you'd be sleeping outside until God knows when."

"Jeez, ya don't have ta be so butthurt, s'just a small spill," he says, wiping up the spilled coffee on the floor. He looks up and frowns, confused. "Uh... Jess?" Meowth questions as he gives her a questioning up-and-down.

She steals a quick glance at her state right now. The Rocket adorns a baggy training shirt from almost three years ago, when they had been but trainees, and black boy-shorts that take to the curve of her backside rather nicely (if she does say so herself). She props a hand on her hip as she curls the ruined sweats on her arm, shooting a quick, "What of it?"

"James...?" Meowth reminds her as he follows her to the living quarters.

"Don't be stupid, Meowth, he's seen me in _less_, lest you forget the day we went to the beach," Jessie coos, looking down at the cat in mock haughtiness. "In any case, I—_oof_!"

In her ramble, she hadn't noticed James coming by the other way, or the cat scurrying off to nurse his forgotten dim sum, but rather the fact that her partner is holding her by the hip and that the fact that she lacks any sort of coverage on the lower part of her body. Heat rushes to her cheeks as she looks down and notices that James is clothed in a rather tight undershirt, too.

She takes a step back in hopes to alleviate the awkwardness.

James rubs the back of his head shyly, his eyes wide with curiosity. "Er... reason why you're pantless?"

"Oh, the damn cat spilled coffee over me," she says quickly. She veers off to the side as if to let him past, but when he doesn't budge, she prompts, "I need your spare sweats for tonight. Unless you want me sleeping in my underwear..."

"_Weeeeeelllll._.."

His shit-eating grin almost gets to her, really.

"_Fuck off,_ James," she says, half-playful, half-irritated. She shoves her coffee-stained pants into his arms and ducks into the living room, not even bothering to wait for him when she closes the door. She hears his slight groan as it shuts on him, his face hit by the chipped wood in the process; she grins, calling out a sing-song, "Sorry!"

"How courteous," James says wearily as he walks in, rubbing his now red face in discomfort.

Jessie has to stifle a laugh as she digs through his messy backpack for his sweats. "Ladies first," she reminds him as she pulls them out. She unrolls the black sweatpants and shakes the lint off of them, making a face when she sees that they're tattered and ripped. She shoots him an unhappy look and pouts jokingly.

He only shrugs. "You could sleep in your underwear. No one is _forcing_ you to wear these."

Jessie smacks him upside the head in response.

"Enough with the jokes!" she reprimands as she slips on the far-too-big pair of sweats. Rolling them up at her waist, she continues, "It's time for us to be serious now, James. We're Alphas! And tomorrow, we'll be meeting Petrel. Oh, God, he's a prodigy, they say, he's absolutely brilliant. _James!_ Pay attention," she says accusingly when she realizes that he's scratching at his stomach and staring off into the distance. He flinches when she shrieks, "We have to make an impression!"

"Jess, you need to calm down."

"Oh my God, James, this is the real thing," she says, her hands clasped around her mouth. "We did it. We robbed a fucking bank, but we _did it_."

"Jessie."

"Stop it, James, don't touch me — let me have my moment," Jessie says as she swats his hands away from her.

"Stop," he says, all commanding yet soft; she lets her hands drop to her sides at the sound of his voice. He takes her firmly by the shoulder, and with an even tone, whispers like it's some secret, "If we want to make an impression, we can't be giddy or silly. It's not surreal anymore, Jess, it's _real_. So you need to calm down before you get too far ahead of yourself."

The woman can only nod weakly. "Right, you're right. We need composure."

"Yes."

"We need calm and collected."

"Absolutely."

"We need to be strong and — _together_, in every sense of the word."

"Mmhm."

Jessie flashes him a grin. She leans forward and grabs him by the shoulders, presses her body up against his, and wraps her arms around him in a tight hug. She clings onto him as she buries her face in his shoulder, relishing in the way hiss holds her. "We'll be good," she tells him softly, her words so light that the breeze almost carries them away.

"Yeah," comes his sleepy reply.

And she could've kissed him, right there. She could've broken all walls that sit between them, all the barriers that forbid them from crossing that threshold and into some no man's land. She could have set all of the tensions between them free and cleared the floor of those damn eggshells.

She doesn't.

If only because Meowth had chosen the wrong time to ask for more dim sum.

"Did I, uh, intarrupt somethin'?" Meowth asks, his voice laced with all these suggestions that Jessie wants to kick the cat all the way to Unova and back.

"No," James says. He steals a look at his human partner, then back to the pokemon. "Why do you want more dim sum? You've had half a pack."

"What can I say? A pokemon's gots ta eat!"

With that, her partners leave for the kitchen, arguing about Meowth reverting back to his old ways and James being a "tight ass" about food; Jessie sits on the couch, half-wondering what might've happened if Meowth hadn't walked in at that moment. A part of her wants to be thankful that it happened this way; in no way, shape, or form does she want to put her great friendship with James in danger for _this_ kind of relationship. But then, a part of her reminds her that he had looked at her the same way, too, and maybe...

No.

This isn't what she's here for, she concludes as she zips up James' backpack. Thinking about her best friend this way isn't in the itinerary—far from it. It's so childish, if she's honest with herself, because crushes are for girls on the playground, and she's grown up too much to be thinking that she could harbor one these days. Fact of the matter is, the playground they run on now is too criminal for frivolous notions like love and the like. No, she left innocence far behind a long time ago. It is time for her to leave it where belongs.

Satisfied with this, she heads into the kitchen, where the smell of stale dim sum being fried on the blackened stove seems to hang over the cat and the man flipping the pats of dough. Peeking her head between that of James's and Meowth's, she thinks that this is only the start of their good fortune.

**-/-**

_Now_

"Good fortune," Delia echoes pensively. "Wishful thinking, huh?"

Jessie laughs at that. Shaking her head, she corrects the woman, "Stupidity of the young, rather. I never thought it'd end up this way."

"None of us did, Jessie," Delia says gently.

The Rocket takes no comfort in that. Instead, she brushes away the ashes from her forgotten cigarette and whispers, "Yeah, well... Where was I?"

* * *

**A/N:** Ooook sorry it's been long since the last time I poster a chapter. Summer assignments ruin all of my plans lbr. Hopefully I get this suck edited before Monday rolls around...

**A/N Take Two:** Oh my, it's been two weeks x) SORRY! Here's the chapter, and I beefed it up to make up for the lost time. I can't promise steady updates here on out, but I will say this — my outline is all done and at the ready. I've outlined every plot point, every ploy, every death, right to the most minuscule detail. And idk if you noticed in this chapter, but my writing has been description-light lately. It feels forced to me, but I don't want to delay any more than I already have. I will try very hard to make the next chapter even better, and _that's_ a promise.

And I think the reason why it's so.. dry... is because these first few chapters are exposition. Introducing the basics, new characters, situations, etc. But I assure you, once Petrel comes in _(cough next chapter cough)_, the speed will pick up and the story will start rolling. And personally, I really like my characterizations of the executives, namely Archer and Petrel :P So there's that to look forward to!

Oh, yeah, and before anyone brings it up: Isharu WILL be a recurring character! You'll see more of him later, but for now, this is his introduction. I kind of like him. Reminds me a bit of Uncle Iroh and my dad lol.

Also... the little blurbs of New won't be very frequent anymore, as I feel it can mess up the momentum of things. James and Ash's blurb next chapter will be the last for a long while, so for those of you who don't like them as much are in luck. For those of you that do like the blurbs, I apologize, but hey: you'll be able to look forward to something now.

Lastly, I plead for reviews. I will grovel. Give you cookies. Trade my shiny Charizard with a crappy Farfetch'd with you (jk). Idk. Just review or tell your friends to review and something good will come out of it (_cough faster updates cough_).

Till next time — Tori!


	5. Chapter 5

**WICKED GAMES**

* * *

**A/N:** Anddddd here, ladies and gentlemen, is where the action picks up.

* * *

**chapter four :: **_the prodigious executive  
_

* * *

_Then_

A creak.

A lock.

A rustle of papers.

_You have to start somewhere,_ James thinks as he sits up. He half-expects Jessie to be awake, too, but to his surprise she is snoring, her arm hanging off the couch and her other hand tucked underneath her face. In the other room, he can faintly hear three voices chattering about something he can't make out; in his daze, he rubs the sleep from his eyes and reaches for Jessie's dangling hand. He yanks it twice, mumbling a sleepy, "Wake up, Jessie."

In response, she pushes her hand into his face to shove him away.

James, with a grudging sigh, props himself on his knees and stretches. The crack in his back mid-yawn makes him frown; well, _that_ was unexpected. Casting a sidelong glance at his dozing partner, he supposes that it's time for him to be the bearer of bad news and interrupt her slumber. Judging by the sound of Petrel and the grunts' conversation in the kitchen, it seems that they've been here quite awhile and keeping them any longer won't be too appeasing or make for a good impression; with another sigh, James pulls his partner out of her curled position on the couch.

Luckily, he sees the smack coming and ducks out of the way before her hand can meet his face.

"Christ, James," Jessie grumbles under her breath. She pulls down her wrinkled shirt and tries her best to smooth out the creases; with a wince, she adds, "May I remind you that I'm injured here, so you _could_ be gentler, thanks."

Smirking, James nudges her arm with his elbow. Without a second thought, he says, "I'd have pinned you as one to like it rough."

He blushes as red as a flushed flareon. To his relief, she doesn't pay that comment any mind and instead, she punches him lightly in the stomach with a biting, "Stop being crude and make yourself presentable, would you?" The red-haired agent reaches over to pull at the tail of the snoring Meowth, who curses at them for "intarruptin' a damn good dream."

He grunts in response to Jessie's previous comment, but he mentally kicks himself—what even _possessed_ him to say that? He may need a good shower to wake himself up. Shaking his head, he pulls his hair back and combs through the knots. He then realizes that he doesn't have pants and only has on his boxers and an undershirt, which, if he's correct, isn't very _presentable_. Holding up his index finger, he says hesitantly, "Er, Jess, I -"

"Shut up, James, hurry up," she snaps, trying to to pull the brush out of her hair.

His face drops. "Okay..."

The trio cross over to the kitchen (with Jessie fumbling over her still tangled hair despite the fact that it looks perfectly fine), where they find the purple-haired executive dressed in jeans and a pulled-close leather jacket, entertaining two grunts with some odd story. He is standing on the table, mimicking a shoot out when he see the recently-awoken agents out of the corner of his eye. Making a displeased face, he jumps from the table and onto the floor, crossing his arms when he takes a good look at them.

James is almost uncomfortable by his scrutinizing stare, if not for the beginnings of a smile tugging on his lips.

"Well, these are the two washed-up agents that the Boss decided to promote," Petrel says with a grin. He turns to the two grunts, blocking his mouth with one hand as if in secrecy, "They're not _that_ good. If they can make it, you can too."

And oh, that hurts to hear. James watches Jessie clench her teeth and nod with humor, a laugh that is almost forced emitting from her tight lipped-smile. Little do those two know, they won't make it that far. They'd be rotten in a jail cell by then.

Petrel gives her a sidelong look, then to James, says, "James Morgan, nice to see you, buddy."

"Petrel," James says with a slight bow. The executive was one of the board members that interviewed him upon his induction as a Beta agent, way back when. The new Alpha caused much trouble in those days — coupled with his lavender hair and his surname, James assumes that his face would be a hard one to forget. Whether that would work in the trio's favor or not is still up in the air, but he brushes off this concern and smiles.

The executive gives a quick up-and-down, stifling a laugh with a humored, mocking frown. "Where are your pants, Alpha Agent James?"

An embarrassed blush creeps on the agent's cheeks. He sighs and points at Jessie, rolling his eyes as e explains, "She's wearing mine."

The other man raises an eyebrow. "So it's like that, huh?"

"_No_, it's _not_ like _that_," Jessie almost shrieks, her cheeks colored red with shock. "I just — I had to borrow his, that's all," she says. Crossing her arms she glares at James for saying such a thing that insinuates that idea.

Her reaction stings, if he's honest.

Petrel smirks. "Well, good news for me, eh?" He bumps elbows with the male grunt behind him, winks, and says, "Good news for everyone else back at HQ, am I right?"

Anger boils in James, though he can't be too sure why. She's her own person, after all and he shouldn't be jealous, for God's sake. _Still_. He can't help but be angered by Petrel's talk, like Jessie's some piece of meat. She's _definitely_ not that kind of girl.

"I kid, I kid," Petrel says, as if wary of James' growing dislike of the executive. "I'm just poking fun at the fact that no one back in Kanto seems to have a girl, it's all. Bringing one home would lighten the mood. Ehehe.. how about we start over?"

He glances at Jessie, who's been more irritated by her hair than any of the exchanges yet. He reaches forward and sticks out his hand for her to take, saying quickly, "Team Rocket Executive Petrel Schmidt. I make bad jokes upon bad jokes and I don't have a filter, nice to meet you."

Jessie grins, taking his hand and shaking it firmly. "I'm—"

"I know who _you_ are, _you're_ the Miyamoto girl. Your mother's a legend, Miss Jessie," Petrel continues without skipping a beat. "Her title transcends down to you, little Rocket Princess. And you," he says, turning to Meowth. "You're the fabled talking Pokemon, am I correct?"

The cat Pokemon rocks on his heels, saluting at the executive. "Meowth, at yer service!"

Petrel gives a smile, which fades quickly as soon as he meets James' eyes. The agent is a bit put off by the executive's military-like stare, but it is dismissed when Petrel recoils in laughter. He slaps hand on James' back playfully, saying through his chuckles, "Man, you've got to loosen up a bit. Just because I'm your boss and all doesn't mean you gotta be so uptight."

James gives a soft chuckle, "Yeah, I'll take that to mind." He clears his throat and glances at the two quivering grunts dressed plainly behind Petrel — a pang of guilt resonates through him, but he does his best to ignore it. He asks aloud to everyone around, "Has everyone eaten already?"

"Well, these two have," Petrel says in reference to the grunts. "But I was thinking we'd brunch somewhere in Olivine. You, me, Jess and Meowth."

"What about us?" the female grunt asks, her face wrinkled in confusion.

Much to James's surprise, Petrel doesn't even flinch when he turns and says, "You and Dante will stay back here and watch the safehous. I'll pick you two up when we drop off these two big-shots at HQ tomorrow. Sound good, eh?

Despite their nods, James observes, they don't look convinced. But as if they've accepted their fate, they sit at the table and wait for further instruction.

"Which reminds me! These two don't need to be trudging around in uniform. Mind if they use your spare clothes for the time being?" he asks. The two grunts relent, pulling out autumn wear from their backpacks for the two agents to use.

Within minutes, Jessie and James have dressed into everyday clothing — Jessie, adorning leggings and a cardigan and boots; James, with a jacket and jeans to match Petrel. They look at each other and smile, so unaccustomed with normal clothes. After all, for almost four months they've been in uniform. It's a nice change, James decides.

"You twos look normal fer once," Meowth says when his two human partners walk back into the kitchen.

James grins and nods. He _does_ look spiffy in these new clothes. The agent makes a mental note to himself to buy more jeans and more cargo jackets. "Thanks," he says, smoothing out the lapels of his jacket.

"We'll be off then!" Petrel says with a clap. To the grunts at the table, he cracks a smile and adds, "I'll buy you two your first drinks when I see you next. Don't mess up the house too much."

The four of them make their way out of the safehouse and into the brightly lit Ecruteak forest. The Team Rocket issued Jeep parked in between the trees beeps twice upon their arrival, and the trio marvels at the upgraded gear that makes it look like it belongs in a military caravan rather than for a mafia. Petrel climbs in the front seat, mumbling something about the air conditioning needing to be warmed up first. Shooing them away, he tells them to stand by the trees as he fixes the "damn radiator."

That's when James feels his heart lurch in guilt. His smile almost falters, if not for Jessie's hand clamping around his arm in warning. He glances at her, and her eyes shift to the executive and the grunts standing on the porch, and then back to him. The corners of her lips tug a bit more, and just as quickly, she releases his arm, her eyes lingering on his for a few seconds until she looks to Petrel and says, "Should we put Meowth in a pokeball? A talking pokemon is not one people forget so quickly... and seeing as he can never shut up..."

The cat readies his claws and fury swipes at the air, saying angrily, "I resent dat! You knows I can be da quietest cat dere is!"

"I'd have to agree, with Jessie, Meowth," Petrel affirms from the open hood. He perks his head up and looks to James, asking, "Do you carry a spare pokeball?"

The lavender-haired agent pulls a new capsule out from his knapsack. Clicking it open, he presents it to the Pokemon, who, after a few attempts to swipe at the humans, finally relents and allows himself to be sucked into his temporary home. With that issue out of the way and the car up to speed, the Jeeps drives off with one last wave to the grunts on the porch.

When they've made it back onto the highway, James realizes just how bad he feels about the entire ordeal. He glances behind him and sees Jessie fiddling with her backpack, unaware of her partner staring at her. Sighing, he focuses on the road ahead. "I feel sick," he whispers, sinking as far into the seat as he can manage. He stares out the window, watching the sinewy autumn trees melt into a big and bountiful forest before him. Shaking his head, James looks to the concentrated Petrel beside him, then asks, "How do you do it? You didn't even flinch. You were so... detached."

The executive clenches his jaw tightly. After a few moments of silence, he says in a tone vastly different from his previously peppy one, words so chilling that James almost shivers. "You get used to it."

**-/-**

Just as night begins to fall, Petrel parks the car in front of a worse-for-wear restaurant, contrarily named, "The Charizard Café" despite being not too hot in the exterior department. The sign is in shambles — the bulbs in the C and the Z have burnt out, and the crudely drawn pokemon hangs upside down as if by years of mishap and neglect. In the parking spaces in front of the building, a row of bikes stand haphazard, one on top of the other as if forgotten by its owners and the sidewalks are littered with bottles filled with unknown substances and half-drunken whiskey. Behind the three Rockets, the Jeep beeps twice, and Petrel mumbles, "Come on."

Beside James, Jessie makes a face. "Why here?" she asks as they start walking towards the dilapidated restaurant.

Vaguely, Petrel says, "An old friend of mine owns this place. Gonna stop by and say hello first."

"Not much of an owner," Jessie grumbles under breath as James opens the door for them.

Almost instantly, they are met with the smell of beer, sweat, and cooking bacon from beyond the crowd of biker gangs and otherwise sketchy looking people. James frowns at the sight and wonders whether or not this is the same group of bikers he and Jessie were part of way back when; seeing the cueballs wrestle and call out gruff looking pokemon in the back, James decides that it probably isn't.

Amid his look-arounds, Petrel seemed to have disappeared from his sight, which confuses and annoys him at the same time. "Any idea where Petrel—" James begins, spinning around to see Jessie but is met with an empty space. Huffing, the agent decides to go for a drink. He shoves past a few men (who, in his opinion, need a good shower) and makes his way to the bar adjacent to the entrance.

The lady behind the counter saunters over to him almost immediately. "What can I get for you, hun?" she asks sweetly, batting her eyelashes. Inwardly, he cringes - the woman is big and middle-aged and looks like she hasn't seen a mirror in years, yet stares at him like he's some toy to play with. Shrugging off his disgust, he offers a smile and asks for a beer on tap.

While the woman goes to fetch his drink, James scours the mass of men for a certain red-headed Rocket and the eccentric executive. He gives up when a fearsome biker catches his eye and throws him the finger; it wouldn't be too great if he got beaten up now, especially when his friends are missing in action. Sighing, he shakes his head and waits for the waitress to make her round back to him.

"You're not from here, are you?" the waitress notices, his beer in hand. "You're prettier than most of the slabs of meat we get around here. Say, are you alone, or are you a biker in training?"

He laughs. "Nah, I'm here with a couple friends. Though, they've seemed to have left me." Frowning, he ventures to ask, "Have you seen them, by chance? Redheaded girl, tall, skinny. Or a purple-haired man. Goatee? Kind of on the shorter side?" To each query, she shakes his head, though he's seemed to spark an interest at the last description.

"Purple.. eh? I think I've seen him," the woman says after awhile. "Is he.. well... off-center?"

"Sounds about right," James snorts.

She throws a thumb over her shoulder, pointing to the backdoor. "He went out there with Hikaru, the owner. Went to talk about something important, though Hikaru ain't really much of a responsible guy.. heh, I wonder - hey!"

James scurries off, abandoning his beer and a few dollars on the counter. He rushes for the backdoor, thinking the worst. A feeling of dread floods his stomach when he bursts through the door, his hand readied on his pistol. A rush of cool air whizzes past him as he steps outside; from his peripheral vision, he sees Petrel holding a scrawny man by the throat against a grimy wall, seemingly yelling obscenities at the man in a foreign language. The executive seems to be more absorbed in the quickly-turning-blue man than the interruption.

"Petrel - " James starts, slowly pulling his gun out as he approaches the two fighting men.

The man in question's head snaps around to look at him. "Oh, James," he says in a surprised tone. He releases the man from underneath him, who slumps to the ground, wheezing for oxygen as he tries to crawl away. Petrel kicks him down as he says, "I was just discussing a mishap in a business deal with Hikaru here. Caused quite a disturbance up in the Boss's offices, almost made us go bankrupt. That would've been bad, right, James?" Another kick. Hikaru starts to cough up blood, but Petrel stands in front of him to block James's view.

The new Alpha agent swallows and nods. He puts his gun back into his pocket and steps away, rubbing the back of his head as he says, "Very bad. Have you seen Jessie?"

"I thought - " then, Petrel's eyes go wide, half in terror, half in anger. "_Fuck_." Bending down, the executive yanks the bloodied man up onto his feet, snapping, "Quit your fucking crying, you sad piece of shit. You're lucky something more important has arose, or you'd be pushing daisies in a junkyard tomorrow morning, you hear? Do this again and I'll make sure I'll go medieval on your ass next time. Is that clear?" he asks, shaking the sobbing man when he doesn't get a response. "I said _is that clear_?"

"_Hai_," the whimpering man manages to get out.

"Speak English next time, you fucking _shit_," Petrel spits, dropping the sniveling man onto the ground. He whips around to James and snaps his fingers, saying as he grabs him by the arm, "Come on, I think Jessie's in trouble."

**-/-**

When they get back inside the restaurant, the crowd of bikers are still as rambunctious as before. James and Petrel shove pass the drunken men, ignoring the death threats and the fists in the air - heart pounding, James kicks open the door to the men's restroom, where the executive had wordlessly pointed to.

He sees a bloodied Jessie (though he's not _too_ sure whose blood it is) standing next to man whose throat has been slashed, wielding a knife that she points to a beefy, lofty man in the corner of the room. She is barking something at the man that James can't make out, her voice watery and forced, her hand shaking as she waves it at the apparent assaulter, and seems more preoccupied with the man than the Rockets behind her. Suddenly, she charges at him, which Petrel sees coming and stops her right then, grabbing her wrist and knocking the knife out of her hands.

"Fuck," Jessie screams when Petrel physically hands her over to James. "Let me kill the bastard, no one fucking _touches_ me like that."

And despite wanting to be the man he claims to be, he can't do much besides hold her by the arms and listen to her sob because she's _bloodthirsty_, because she wants to wreak revenge on the man who tried to do her wrong, to slash her down like his friend beside her. Instead, he watches Petrel release his Zangoose and the word _kill_ slip so easily from his tongue. He watches the Pokemon slash his throat open, and when Jessie wriggles free from his arms, he watches the man collapse lifelessly to the floor.

"We need to fucking go," Petrel says quickly, wiping his mouth after a moment of thought. "Hikaru will cover this up - he always does. We - we need to go, _now_, James."

"You almost _killed_ Hikaru, you think he's going to cover you up now?" the agent snaps, grabbing a shaking Jessie by the arms and pulling her in front of him.

The executive shoots James a deathly glare. "He's _scared_ of us, that's why I think he's going to cover us up."

"The waitress will know -" he says, but is cut off by Petrel's frustrated growl of, "_She's one of us._"

Silenced by this, he walks on, Jessie in front of him and the purple-headed man trailing behind. They avoid the questioning gang members around them, the queries of _where's so-and-so_; Petrel waves a hand at the waitress that had served James, who nods and moves to place a "out of order" sign on the door of the men's restroom.

Back in the car, James opts to sit with Jessie in the back, who has stopped shaking and started ranting about the men in the bathroom. Trying to calm his own inner fury, he runs his hands over his face and sighs. The agent rests his elbows on his knees, letting out a groan as he buries his face into the crook of his arms. "It's been a long day."

Beside him, Jessie snorts. "God, I'm so pissed, James, I'm so goddamn _pissed_ you don't even know," she says, her fingers curling around her knees in anger. "Those motherfuckers deserved to be killed, I swear to _God._"

"They're like that," Petrel pipes in, "All of his gang. That's why -" he shakes his head, his words heavy with regret, "- I usually don't bring female agents along with me, but..." he trails off as he merges into the highway. "I'm sorry. If they hurt you," he offers pitifully.

"They didn't hurt me," Jessie snaps, clenching her jaw. "Almost did, but killed 'em before they got the chance." She shifts in her seat and exhales through her nose, as if trying to subdue her anger. "Fuck. They said something about being a part of Team Ampere, God knows if that's true or not," she says quietly.

The executive steps on the brakes suddenly, ignoring the complaints of the passengers in the back and the honks of the passing cars; whipping his head around, he asks, "_What?_"

Jessie, startled by the question, frowns. "What?"

"How do you know?" he prompts, starting the car again and racing forward onto the highway. Waiting for her answer, he glances at her through the rear-view mirror. "Well?"

"They just, I don't know, shoved me into a bathroom and started talking about how they work for Team Ampere now," she says. "Of course, I didn't really let them finish... slashing people in the throat tends to silence people, I guess." She wrinkles her nose at the last sentence, as if bothered by the memory.

Petrel leans his head against the steering wheel, sighing in exasperation. "_Great_. They have the Federation on their side."

"Why does that matter? I thought Team Ampere wasn't a problem for us anymore," James finally speaks up. "I though we got rid of them a long time ago... Right?"

The executive only revs the Jeep and speeds past all the cars on the highway, changing lanes and coming close to hitting bumpers and fenders; amid the honks and the angry fists of the drivers they push by, Petrel shakes his head, slamming his index finger on the power button to the radio. "That little stunt you three pulled in Ecruteak could've gone two ways," he says, a hint of annoyance lacing his words. "Giovanni could have killed you for unwittingly breaking the agreement between Team Ampere and Team Rocket. There was to be no syndicated crime on the other turf, yadda yadda yadda, and all that good stuff. But he's not going to kill you, obviously."

A silence, sans the steady rap music that blasts through the stereo, follows this revelation. James takes a deep breath. "What was the second option, then?"

Petrel laughs. "Well, hell, you're living it right now, aren't you? Giovanni didn't promote you because he sees _potential_ in you," he says, a chuckle prevalent in his voice, "He promoted you because he sought an _opportunity_ in expansion. And he's a man of reward. You see?" He swallows thickly as the car begins to slow, almost completely braking as they approach the Kanto checkpoint. "So my advice to you is this: don't fuck up. Fuck up and you get killed. Get on his good side. And don't lose sight of the ultimate goal."

"Ultimate goal?" Jessie asks, her voice timid and quiet. Her brow furrows as she steals a glance at her partner, who looks just as confused as she is.

"Why, the oldest motive in every good antagonist's book," Petrel says with a winning grin. "'_Steal Pokémon for profit. Exploit Pokémon for profit. All Pokémon exist for the glory of Team Rocket_' and, so the addendum instated by good old Giovanni goes:_ take over the world_. Only problem is, we're not even halfway through with Kanto, but you three have opened the gates of world domination by damning the pact with Team Ampere straight to hell. Hey," he says when he turns around to look at them, "You guys make good accidents. Keep up the good work, you're almost there."

James opens his mouth to say something to rebut his seemingly condescending attitude, but something about the executive seems to be kind and genuine. He settles into the seat instead, resting his hand over Jessie's who seems to be as tired as he is; sighing, he laces his fingers with hers, casting an apologetic look to his partner.

"We're almost there," Jessie echoes sleepily.

James hums in reply. _Yeah, we're almost there, Jess._

**-/-**

_Now_

"So Giovanni only promoted you because he was rewarding you?" Ash asks, a bit skeptic at the thought. "Not because he actually thought you two could be good at what you do?"

James shakes his head, withholding a bitter laugh at the reminder of his first steps as an Alpha agent. The memory of that first car ride with Petrel and Jessie almost hurts; it's been so long since he's held a conversation with the both of them, and he'd like to reconnect with Petrel, especially since there hasn't been any reason to their falling out besides Jessie's decision to leave him. Petrel has always had a soft spot for Jessie, though. Still - a good talk is due for the two men.

"He must've been pleasantly surprised to see that you two proved him wrong, then," the League Champion muses, his fingers dancing on the Pokeball on the table. Drawing his lips into a tight smile, he says, "That's so fucked up. How did you even deal with that?"

"I ignored it, and Jessie, well," James says, waving it off with his hand. "She's Jessie. That was her motivation. She loves proving people wrong."

"Don't we all?"

The Rocket nods. "The downfall of humanity."

The black-haired boy smirks and minimizes the pokeball in his hand. Sighing, he says, "Fuck that, man. Look where it got you."

"Look where it got _you_," James counters, nodding to the badge on his chest. "If it weren't for your hard-headed determination to show up whats-his-face, you wouldn't be the Kanto Champ now."

Ash scoffs. "Just continue your damn story, James."

* * *

**A/N:** DIDN'T I SAY IT WOULD BE FASTER? Yes, yes I did. And I appreciate all of your reviews like I love you guys so gd much *heart* *hugs all of you* So, as I've said, the ball is starting to roll. Story Arc #1 is in commencement! And there's loads of foreshadowing in this chapter - I like to keep you guys on your toes. By the way, someone had PM'd me asking if I had read the mangas. As I said in the reply, I have not, and I'm mainly going by my vague memories of the anime and the games. But perhaps one day I will!

Ehehe, I'm excited to write the next chapter - we'll meet a special character none of you will be able to guess, with guest appearances by the rest of the executive crew. And if anyone has any questions, leave it in your review, and I'll either answer it in a reply or in an A/N at the end of the next chapter.

Till next time - Tori!


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